The Mementos We Carry
by Charity Angel
Summary: In which Claire and Sam conspire to get Dean cured. [The Things We Cling To 2] [Destiel Fix s10e09]


If she didn't know any better, Claire would have to say that Castiel was depressed. Of course, Castiel wasn't human and didn't have a soul, so he couldn't actually be depressed, technically. But if anyone had a right to be, he did – he was dying, the guy he loved was dying, the guy he was supposed to spend eternity sharing a body with was already dead, and his brothers had all-but laughed at him when he had asked for their help.

To be fair to the angels, though, Castiel had returned to the bunker the previous evening with a couple of the – fortunately clothed – cherubim in tow, only to have them tell him there was nothing they could do to help find Dean a soulmate in order to relieve the effects of the Mark of Cain. They had almost been nice about it, but it was obvious that Cas had not missed the amusement they had shared, and he had been pretty pissed ever since.

Claire, on the other hand, had grabbed them as they left and gotten the truth from them. She and Sam had pretty much sussed it out almost as soon as Castiel had left for Heaven, but the pair of cupids confirmed it – their brand of magic wouldn't work because his soulmate had already been found, only they couldn't work their mojo on Castiel. But they approved of Claire's solution to the problem (because if nothing else, it couldn't hurt to have Castiel and Dean together at last) and, hugging her tightly, they wished her all the luck in the world in doing their job for them the human way.

Claire's initial reaction to Castiel probably hadn't helped his mind-set much, she admitted, but she was trying now. Finding her still at the bunker when he returned had brightened his perpetually gloomy expression some, but it hadn't lasted. She had tried tantalising him with a mug of hot chocolate before she went to bed, but discovered that he refused to drink it while he couldn't taste properly. Which she thought was crap, personally – he still had taste buds, right? Couldn't be all that complicated to actually use them.

But this morning, she had renewed purpose: because it had been late when the angels had arrived the night before, Sam and Claire had both persuaded Castiel that it was best to leave Dean until the morning before waking him. She was determined that she would have a nice breakfast ready for Dean to eat when he woke up – for them all to eat. Sam had suggested that he would pick something up from the local diner that was swimming in grease, but Claire had insisted she could manage bacon, eggs and pancakes – her gran had taught her that much in the couple of years they had had together.

And she had. Sam had found a trolley somewhere in the depths of their secret base (which was very cool, she didn't mind admitting, even if it was a bit nerdy), and they had wheeled a prodigious volume of food and coffee to the dungeon where Castiel had apparently been holed up all night, watching over Dean.

Cas stood up as they approached, as if he was still fooling anyone.

"I do not believe it would be prudent for you to be here when I wake Dean," he said.

Sam glared. Claire had been around for long enough already to know that Sam was a glarer.

"Well tough," she said. "We're here, and if Dean was homicidal enough to kill Sam, he would have done it last time he was awake."

See, she could do logic too. A logical argument was generally the best kind to use against Castiel, according to Sam.

"Now, wake him up before my masterpiece gets cold."

.oOo.

Dean had been bewildered and disorientated for a few seconds, then resigned as he took in his surroundings.

"It got bad, huh?"

"Yeah."

"We rescue the kid?"

"Yeah. Hey." Claire waved from the door. "I've got breakfast. You hungry?"

Dean grinned, a bright smile that lit the dank room. "You're talking my language, kid."

Claire loaded up a plate for him and pushed her way past Sam and Cas to present it and a cup of coffee to him.

"You two can get your own," she said to them when they glared at her. "I'm not a cook and a waitress, you know."

Dean chuckled as he tucked into his food. "You sticking around? This place needs a sense of humour."

Claire shrugged. "Maybe," she said, noncommittally. "I'm guessing we're not exactly in Illinois any more, and it's cold out this time of year."

"Kansas," Dean corrected through a mouthful of food.

"I know what the quote is, Grandpa."

Sam snorted. "No, he means we're in Kansas."

She looked around incredulously. "You're kidding?"

Sam shook his head. "Nope."

"So, I'm four states away from home, and, as I said, it's cold out. That and I've not exactly got anywhere else to go any more. So, it might be full of supernatural weirdness here, but at least you guys aren't rapists, or going to sell me out to a loan shark."

And they genuinely seemed to care about her, too. Yeah, so Randy had seemed to care about her too, but he had always asked her to do stuff she knew in her heart was wrong. All Sam and Cas has done was keep her safe, had protested when she had tried to help. And Dean had killed the guys who had hurt her. Claire knew that fact should freak her out, but some reason it didn't; it made her feel more safe, not less. Even knowing that Dean was carrying a curse he couldn't control.

"Stay as long as you want," Dean said through a mouthful of breakfast. He swallowed, then continued: "If you get bored of us, we know a bunch of kids for your age who've been through a load of crap too. Sure you'll get on with them, but we can sort out pretty much anything for you if you want to go back to the real world. But, you're a kick-ass cook, so it'd be kind of great if you stuck around."

"Dean!" Sam scolded. He turned to Claire. "You don't have to cook, you know."

"But it would be beyond awesome if you did," Dean added shamelessly.

Claire smiled as she turned back to Sam again. "Don't sweat it: I like cooking. It's something I really don't suck at. You guys can do your important, saving the world stuff, and I can cook."

.oOo.

Claire took it upon herself to keep Dean company while Cas and Sam researched in the library, or went out chasing leads, generally to do with the Mark, but sometimes possible traces of angelic grace or even occasionally actual cases. Mostly their sojourns were busts, but it gave Claire and Dean time to bond. Often, Claire would bring large tomes from the library while Dean searched the net for any clues (he seemed allergic to book research, but anything where he could have the Busty Asian Beauties website open in the background kept him happy).

She waited a week before she started on her devious plan. She figure that was an acceptable amount of time for him not to be suspicious.

"I never said thanks for rescuing me, did I?"

Dean looked up from the laptop, surprised. "No, I guess not. I never apologised for going all homicidal on you either."

She shrugged. "Yeah, but... Three times. That kind of seems rude not to say anything, so, thank you."

She could see Dean puzzling over the 'three times' for a moment before things clicked. Okay, so technically hadn't always been Sam and Dean who had done the actual saving, but they had been there, and had tried their best.

"I think Cas has more to do with it than us, that second time. He saved our butts too then."

"Yeah, I guess. He's not so bad, is he? I kind of feel bad for giving him a hard time before. Even if he did ruin my life completely, what happened to my mom wasn't actually his fault."

Dean gave her a tight smile. "You know, he still feels really bad about it."

She nodded, a tolerant smile curving her lips. "Yeah, I know. He's kind of a sweetheart really, isn't he? And, you know, I think I'm getting used to thinking of Castiel as a 'he' too."

Dean looked puzzled, and she had to carry on before she started grinning. "I thought of 'him' as a 'her' for so long. You know, from when she possessed me..."

"Oh. Um, yeah, I guess that makes sense. I still thought of Cas as a 'him', even when he possessed you, but I guess that's because I'd known him as a guy for so long before."

That was exactly what Claire had thought, and why she and Sam suspected that Dean was being blind.

"You're being awesome about the whole 'looking like your dad' thing," Dean said, somewhat incongruously. "I know that ain't easy."

Claire shrugged. "He didn't ask for that body back," she asked, her throat tightening on the words. Because she wasn't completely okay with it yet: she was trying, but it would take more time for her to process completely. "God gave it back to him so that you would recognise him, you know, after that prophet told you he was dead. And mostly it's easy to tell that it's not my dad in there. Cas isn't like him, at all. But sometimes... Sometimes he gets this look..."

Dean nodded. "When he's having a more human moment," he said softly. "Yeah, I noticed that too, and I only knew your dad for a day."

"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if God hadn't given Castiel a vessel back, you know? Because he'd have come to me, wouldn't he? I don't know if I'd have been brave enough to say yes again."

Dean reached out and snagged one arm over her thin shoulders. "I don't know about then," he said, "but you are definitely one tough cookie now. You've had so much shit in your life, and you're still swinging. I mean, look at you: you're holed up underground, surrounded by supernatural crap and, you know, me, and you're helping instead of running. You're awesome, kid."

Claire snorted and pushed him away. "Geez, Winchester, you always such a sap?"

.oOo.

When Sam and Cas went out together on a genuine hunt (the werewolf over in Fort Collins, CO that Claire had uncovered three weeks back), Dean and Claire held the fort at the bunker, running research for them while trying to chase their tails on everything else. Claire watched Dean more closely than she should whenever they were on speakerphone, cataloguing the way his entire demeanour changed when he heard Cas speak. Later, when they were both positive they were alone, she and Sam exchanged notes on how the lovebirds had reacted simply to the sound of the other's voice.

"_The stupid thing is," _Sam groaned,_ "I think Cas knows exactly how he feels. He doesn't even bother to hide it any more."_

Claire rolled her eyes. That tallied with what she had seen, and with her vague memories of possession. "He's always known," she said. "He fell for Dean. Why the hell else would he do that? And Dean seems to be getting there too: he practically lit up like a Christmas tree. Probably would have been a bit more relaxed about it if I wasn't there."

The trouble with it just being the two of them in close quarters meant that while it gave Claire ample opportunity to watch Dean, it also gave him all the opportunities he needed to watch her. This wouldn't have been a problem, given that Claire didn't have anything to hide, until she got sick. At first, she put it down to something she ate and Dean pretty much ignored it; giving her some sideways glances whenever she rushed to the bathroom and providing ginger tea instead of coffee. (And, seriously, who even has ginger tea anyway? What kind of men were they?) But after a couple of days with no signs of improvement and suddenly getting tired at weird times of day, he started taking care of her. It was kind of sweet how he would bring her cup after cup of either ginger or peppermint tea, dry toast, saltines and the simple food he made for their meals, but it was also really, really annoying. Especially since when she felt okay, she really was okay and wanted to work.

It ended up with her snapping viciously at him and him shouting back, trembling. Too late, she realised that the whole idea was to keep Dean mellow. Getting him angry got the Mark angry. She held her hands up, her eyes wide as she scrambled back across her bed, getting away from him.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry. I just… You're smothering me, Dean."

He looked confused, bless him. He was probably concentrating more on bringing his heart rate back down than what she was saying, but he did at least look at her.

She shrugged self-consciously under his baffled gaze. "I'm not used to this. My mom fucked off when I was twelve, my grandma died when I was fourteen and I'd spent more time looking after her than her looking after me."

Dean relaxed. It was almost as if he was a marionette and someone had cut his strings. Everything slumped as the tension left him and he got all embarrassed.

"Sorry, kid."

"S'okay," she said softly, getting to her feet slowly, like you would around a frightened animal that might attack you. "I'm sorry I set you off. Can we please get back to normal now?"

Dean nodded. "I'll try. It's kind of instinctive to worry: Sam was sick, like, all the time as a kid."

"Really?" Seemed doubtful. Sam was just so strong.

"Sure. You name it, that kid caught it."

Claire shrugged and shoved playfully past Dean as she left the room and headed to the kitchen. She was starving all of a sudden.

"I kind of got used to not being sick," she said as he followed her. "Managed to avoid everything for ages now. Forgot how much it sucks."

He nudged her. "You're like me," he said proudly. "Never got anything Sammy did. Bobby used to check me for hexes or shifter blood every couple months. Figured I had to be cursed or something."

.oOo.

Claire stared at the file in front of her. Cas had to have known. He had to have. Assuming that the Men of Letters were right, of course: it wasn't as if they had seen an angel at any point over the last two millennia, after all. Maybe they were wrong?

But maybe they weren't. Maybe they were right, and that was the reason Cas had wanted to find her. Maybe the only reason he hadn't brought it up was that he had gotten distracted by this whole Dean thing.

The nausea that had plagued her for days bubbled up, and she ran to the toilet; her coffee and pancakes getting acquainted with the bowl somewhat sooner than anticipated. She rested her head against the cool porcelain, trying to gather her runaway thoughts. Had Castiel been fooling her all along? He had sure as shit been able to lie before, and now he was so much more human. And the Winchesters – did they know? Were they just keeping her sweet until…

"Claire? You… oh."

Dean's voice moved from the library door to just outside the bathroom she was currently holed up in.

"Again?" He sounded solicitous, concerned.

She groaned, pushed herself up faster than she really wanted to (she really wanted to just hug the toilet until this stupid vomiting thing passed once and for all), but anger and betrayal flooded her veins. Her hand shook as she flushed, as she wrenched open the door and as she pushed her way past Dean.

"Like you care," she snapped at him, fighting the prickling in her eyes.

"Huh? Claire?"

As she slammed the door to her bedroom, she heard him mutter "Fucking teenagers, man."

She grabbed the few clothes she owned from the dresser and shoved them into her bag. She packed up the laptop a little more carefully: she would be able to flog it easily enough, since it was still new and in good nick. It wasn't gummed up with any viruses or malware or crap yet, it ran like a dream. Would be a shame to lose it, but she would need the cash since, ass-end of nowhere or not, she was getting out of there, one way or another.

She sat on the bed to consider her options: she was a good few miles out of Lebanon itself, but stealing Dean's car was the best way to get him to hunt her to the ends of the Earth. Dorothy's motorbike was out for the same reason (and she quickly repressed the memory of Sam bouncing on his toes like a big kid as he told her the story about the Wicked Witch of the West), but she didn't think any of the other (incredibly conspicuous vintage) cars were in any condition to actually run.

As she was thinking, there was a loud shout from the library, then pounding feet and a knock at the door.

"Claire? I found the file. I get why you're pissed."

She ripped the door open. "Really? You do?"

His face was so open, so pained, wounded, that she hesitated.

"I would be too. I… It happened to Sammy, last year. I totally forgot about it until now. But I know Cas – even if he thought about it, this isn't the reason he wants you around."

He flapped the file in his hand pointlessly.

"No?" she asked acidly. "So I'm not just a handy-dandy grace-reservoir?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wide and imploring. "Claire, I… Not to me. And I don't think Sam or Cas think so either."

Neither of them seemed to know what to say or do after that, engaged in a kind of desperate but non-violent stand-off at the door. After a minute or two, Dean held out the keys to the Impala.

"Clear your head," he said softly. "Don't make any decisions now. If you still want to leave in a few hours, I won't stop you. I'll give you a ride to the bus station. Just… take some time, yeah? It's been awesome having you here. You know what I've done, and you haven't judged me. You still treat me like I'm still human when even my own brother is scared of what I might become."

She took the keys gently, nodding as his words wormed their way into her brain. She dropped her bag just inside the door and slipped past him, her hand closing over the keys like they were something precious.

.oOo.

She lost track of how long she drove for. She stopped at roadside diners twice to barf and grab a soda, but she didn't linger because she really didn't want to have anyone around her. Not least because she was very much aware of the fact that she looked young for her age, and she could well have her photo on a milk carton or something.

She finally came to a stop at a lake. She pulled up in the abandoned parking lot and sat on the hood of the Impala, cracking a spare soda she had picked up.

Dean had been right – the drive, the time alone, had allowed her to clear her head a bit. Yes, so maybe her having been a vessel had factored into Castiel's decision to seek her out, but she doubted that was the real reason – the whole reason. What she didn't doubt was that the real reason was he felt guilty for stealing her father away from her. Twice. And then getting him killed by an archangel. Cas was far too earnest, too open around her for it to be anything other than what he had always said it was.

She also didn't doubt Dean's shocked reaction earlier, nor the words he had struggled to say; said in a moment of desperation because they needed saying. Dean wasn't good with words, she knew that. When it came to his emotions, he said what he needed to only when it was absolutely necessary. So she had to believe that he did like having her around, and that he really needed her to go back.

Sam was a bit of a wild card here, a bit harder to read than Dean or Cas, but he was her co-conspirator with the whole Destiel plan (a portmanteau Sam assured her came from the creepy fanfiction written about the creepier set of books some prophet or other had written about their lives leading up to the aborted end of the apocalypse).

She had to go back; she knew that, deep down. Completely aside from the fact that she had nowhere else to go, these people were the closest thing she had left to family. Hell, she even shared DNA with Castiel. They understood things about her life that no-one else ever could. They had accepted her and her angst into the bunker – their home – and not asked a thing from her in return. They hadn't demanded that she steal or swindle or go to school; just given her space and let her cope in her own way, by helping. Sam and Dean were more like older brothers to her now, and Cas… once he had stopped trying to be her dad, he was kind of awesome too. He was funny as all hell once you grasped his sense of humour, and he was completely, adorably hopeless when it came to his love life. Which she absolutely, definitely needed to fix asap.

The sun was setting, just a red sliver over the horizon. It was late, and the hours of being pent up and angry had taken their toll.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her cell out and scrolled down to Dean's number. He would worry if she didn't call.

"_Hey kid," _he answered after just one ring._ "You okay?"_

"Yeah," she replied, leaning heavily against the windshield. "I'm…"

She trailed off, not really sure what to say. She had made a complete spectacle of herself back home, left things badly.

"_You sound beat," _Dean said._ "Don't try to drive right now. Find a motel. You still sick?"_

She shrugged and plucked at the sleeve of her sweater. "Nah. Feel fine right now. Doesn't mean anything, though."

"_Hmm."_ It was a non-committal response from Dean. But he knew better than anyone what her stupid body had been like the last week or so; alternating between 'fine' and 'sick as a dog', between wide awake and bone tired at the drop of a hat. It wasn't something they had decided to keep from Sam and Cas, just, well, they had a lot to be worrying about as it was.

"I got, like…" She emptied out the contents of her pockets into her lap. "…two bucks, and a button."

"_Bet it doesn't match anything you're wearing," _Dean said, sounding amused.

Claire turned it over and over in her fingers thoughtfully. He was right. "How'd you know?"

"_Cas does that too," _he said, and she could easily imagine the easy smile he had right now.

"My dad used to too," she said, the memory suddenly coming to her. "Drove Mom nuts."

Dean gave a little huff of laughter._ "Yeah? Well, there's a couple of blankets stashed under the seat. My baby'll look after you."_

"Thanks, Dean," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"_You bet."_

.oOo.

She ran past Dean, only just making it to the nearest bathroom in time. When she came out, he handed her a bottle of Gatorade, an odd expression on his face.

"Don't want to overstep," he said slowly. He was leaning against the wall in a bad facsimilie of ease, "but, um…"

He brought his other hand out from behind him. At first, she did a mental scoff at the box in his hand, but only for a moment before her blood froze.

"It's possible then?" he said softly.

She worked her throat for a bit before managing to get one word out: "Yeah."

He nodded, his eyes full of compassion. "We'll deal."

.oOo.

They sat side by side and stared at the little white stick together. Two little blue lines that sealed her fate.

"We'll deal," Dean said again, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "Whatever you want, we'll deal."

She couldn't think of anything to say to that. She was… how was this happening to her? She had pretty much worked out that, as much as she pretended to be independent, she was still just a kid – she still needed someone to care for her, someone she could care for in return. There was no way she would cope with someone who was completely, one hundred percent dependent on her. Even her own parents hadn't managed that.

Castiel was going to be so disappointed in her.

Dean held her as her thoughts spun out of control, as the tears slid, unbidden, down her cheeks.

"Hey, enough." His voice was still gentle. "Let's go get some ice cream. The diner in Lebanon is surprisingly awesome that way."

She wiped her eyes and nodded. Yeah. Ice cream was exactly what she needed right now.

.oOo.

Over the next few days, they got back into a routine of research and watching movies. Dean had been horrified to discover, over their ice cream, that she had never seen _Star Wars_, somehow, and resolved to indoctrinate her. That was how Sam and Cas found them when they returned: sitting under a blanket, Claire curled up against Dean's side, him with the popcorn, her with the Phish Food, watching _Return of the Jedi._

She glanced up just in time to see the flash of jealousy fade from Castiel's eyes and be replaced with something incredibly fond.

"So," Sam said, dumping his massive frame down on Claire's feet, making her squeak in protest, "this is what you've been doing the last week? Watching movies while we're busting our guts with a werewolf?"

He stole a handful of popcorn from Dean's bowl and munched happily.

"C'mon, Cas," he grinned, addressing the angel who didn't seem to know what to do with himself. "You've not actually seen this for yourself yet, have you?"

There was something mischievous in Castiel's eyes as he assessed the situation then, in a smooth movement, he stole the popcorn bowl and dropped himself into Dean's lap.

Dean gave a wordless shout and tried to shove Cas off, only to find that he was completely immobile, totally unaffected as he munched delicately on the popcorn.

"Dude, you suck," Dean grumbled, making Claire smother a wicked smile. "Was much easier when you were all human: you moved then."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said blandly, "does my angelic presence bother you?"

Claire glanced at Sam, still sat totally unrepentantly on her feet. He was valiantly trying not to grin too, his eyes dancing with laughter.

"I… I didn't mean that, Cas," Dean said desperately. "But, personal space, man."

Cas looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye. "I have touched your soul and rebuilt your body. 'Personal space'" (Claire loved that he actually used air quotes) "is somewhat redundant to us."

Neither of them could help it any more: at Dean's expression of baffled outrage, both Claire and Sam burst out laughing, increasing Dean's ire. Claire accidentally-on-purpose spilled her melting ice cream all over her and Sam, giving them the perfect opportunity to make a hasty exit.

They were still giggling when they spilled into the large, communal bathroom.

"What the hell have you done to him? She demanded in giggling disbelief.

Sam managed somehow to look completely innocent as he shrugged.

"Might have pointed out they're both on borrowed time and if he wanted something to happen before he died, he was going to have to do something about it."

Well. That hadn't been part of their plan. But apparently the best hunters' plans had a lot of room for improvement and, she realised, it made sense: Cas was direct, so the approach had to be direct too.

"Will it work?"

Sam shrugged. "Might be a bit too much for Dean at first, but yeah, I think it will. You been working on Dean?"

She shrugged out of her shirt and dropped it into the sink. "Course I have."

Sam followed her lead, throwing his chocolatey plaid at her. She raised an eyebrow, trying to remain stern and unimpressed in the face of about a mile of tanned, totally ripped torso.

"You spilled, you wash."

"Fair." And her voice only trembled a tiny bit in the face of all that hotness. Thank Heaven for small mercies.

.oOo.

They had left the lovebirds to it, but nothing really seemed to have changed by morning. Dean appeared to have brushed it off as one of Castiel's eccentricities, but Cas was looking quite pleased with himself.

A few days of inactivity later, Dean was climbing the walls, and Sam dragged him out on a salt-and-burn.

"Are you happy here?" Cas asked out of the blue as he flipped through the pages of an old file on symbology.

"Sometimes," she said after some thought. "Sometimes I let myself feel like I belong here, when I let myself forget how I ended up here in the first place. It's easier now."

He gave her a rueful smile. "You may find this difficult to believe, but I understand. My road here has been fraught with trials. I have done some terrible things, not least taking your father from you and condemning you to this life, and yet I can find some measure of peace here, with the only beings I have ever truly been able to call my friends."

"With Dean," Claire corrected.

Cas gave a wry smile. "Yes. But Sam is important too. I love Dean, but Sam is my friend. Our lives would not be complete without him. And, I now suspect, you."

"Me?"

He gave her one of those tiny half-smiles that he normally reserved for Dean. "You are important to me, Claire. Things seem to be easier when you are here."

She put her book down with a thud and met his eyes levelly. "Cas, do you know what would make things easy? What would help Dean keep the Mark at bay forever?"

He was unflinching even as he tilted his head in that endearing and infuriating way he had when he didn't understand something human. This time, she was fairly certain that the thing Castiel didn't understand was her frustration with him. To be honest, she didn't entirely understand it herself and blamed it on her hormones, which she was wont to do these days. She was sitting with a ticking time bomb in her belly, and there was another one in the bunker, one that could be much more easily diffused, if only Castiel and said time bomb would stop being so ridiculous. Why couldn't they just sort their shit out?

"If you recall," he said, his voice laced with ice, "I endeavoured to enlist the help of my brothers in finding a match for Dean. They said it was impossible."

"No!" she cried. "No, they didn't. They said they couldn't help. Cas, they couldn't help because his match is you, and nothing in Heaven or Earth is going to change that!"

There was a deathly silence as he digested that. "Are you certain?"

"Of _course_ I'm certain," she yelled. "I _asked_ them."

His eyes glazed over a little. "You followed the cherubim out," he recalled. "You already knew?"

"I suspected," she said with a rueful smile. "Me and Sam talked about it while you were away. They just confirmed it."

"And you truly believe that I can cure Dean, and we can live happily together?"

Cas seemed incredulous, and Claire suddenly understood why the Winchesters didn't do moments like this: too much of someone else's raw emotion could make your own spill over. The tears came unbidden as she realised just how much Castiel's feelings towards her would change when she told him, how disappointed he was going to be. And she really, really wanted his approval. His, and Sam's too.

Cas moved to hug her as she became unable to speak, torn between needing to tell him and really not wanting to. His movements were awkward at first, but he soon relaxed into it, holding her as her dad used to.

And then he compounded it by being fucking insightful:

"I understand that such emotional reactions will be commonplace while you are with child. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

That brought her up short for a moment, her breath catching in her throat as her head came up and she caught his eyes. Her eyes. Her daddy's eyes, so full of compassion and a lack of judgement that she started sobbing harder.

.oOo.

It took her a good few minutes to come back to her senses and realise that she had covered the shoulder of Cas' shirt in tears, snot and mascara.

"I'm sorry," she said. But Castiel didn't seem all that bothered: he carried on stroking her hair, holding her close like she was still a little girl and she had scraped her knee, or had a nightmare. Or when her best friend had been knocked down and killed by a drunk driver.

"Why?" he asked softly. "Because you are unmarried? It is not as essential as your religious leaders would have you believe."

That she took in her stride. Living with Castiel had already led to many such revelations, to the point that she was no longer surprised by anything ("Pork? That was one of Gabriel's pranks. I believe he wished to know how far our Father's faithful would go in their devotion." "The prophet Luke was particularly fond of opium and marijuana to alleviate the pain of his visions. Kevin was actually remarkably well-adjusted for a prophet.").

"You're… You're not disappointed in me?"

He sighed. "Claire, if anything, I am envious: the ability to have children is something angels do not possess in our true forms, and forbidden to us in vessels. I will never have a child of my own, especially if you are correct and Dean is my intended."

She let out the smallest huff of laughter. "Yeah, I guess kids are kind of off the cards for you. Unless you get a surrogate or something."

Cas looked horrified by the very thought, and Claire felt offended on behalf of every family who had been forced to use artificial methods of conception.

"What, so being an irresponsible, teenage single mom is fine, but bringing a loved and wanted baby into a gay partnership isn't?"

He looked both alarmed and confused at her ire.

"You misunderstand," he said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "When humans procreate, your souls come together to form a new life, just as much as your bodies do. While your science has made some magnificent advances to make up for your evolutionary shortfalls, in vitro fertilisation cannot replicate the joining of the souls."

Claire took some time to think that through, to process a piece of information she was fairly certain that no other human knew, then:

"But IVF babies aren't soulless. That was pretty much the main argument against it, back in the eighties, but they're fine. They don't all grow up to be axe murderers or anything like that."

Cas nodded thoughtfully. "As far as I have been able to surmise, the mother's soul is able to act as a donor following implantation, filling the void in the growing embryo. But that would mean that even if I employed a woman to carry a child created from sperm I donated, such a child would not be mine, no more than you are. It would be your half-brother or sister, genetically speaking, but even my genetics are not my own."

Claire shrugged. "But you would still love it, right?"

"More than likely," he admitted with a soft sigh. "But we are getting ahead of ourselves, are we not? Our lives make such things difficult to consider: we should think of the child you carry before any hypothetical child of mine or Dean's."

"Yeah. And remind me to kill Dean for blabbing about it."

Cas frowned at her. "Dean has said nothing to me: I have merely been observing the changes in your body. Your scent has altered radically in the last few weeks as your hormones have altered; your breasts have enlarged and…"

"Okay! I got it. Admittedly my little problem isn't going anywhere, but I've got at least six months before I have to make any final decisions. You and Dean need to sort your shit sooner rather than later."

Cas sighed deeply. "I do not believe it is going to be that simple. Dean…"

She sat up and grinned deviously at him. "I've been working on Dean for weeks," she said. "You might find he's not as bad as you expect."

"Dean is heterosexual."

"Straight, Cas. Straight. And have you seen him drooling over Doctor Sexy? He's not straight. He's a one, or even maybe a two."

Cas frowned once more, that frown that said he had no idea what the hell she was talking about and could she maybe be a little less human?

"Get with the twenty-first century, Cas: I'm talking about the Kinsey scale." When he still looked baffled, she explained: "Some psychologist guy came up with a scale of sexuality. A zero is totally straight; six is totally gay. It's not black and white."

Cas gave her a tolerant look. "I am aware of that. Your terminology was unfamiliar, not the concept itself. I was simply unaware that Dean had any inclination towards men."

She patted his cheek. "You're not exactly a man, sweetie, whether you're wearing my dad's body or not. And Dean knows that. And he's crazy about you – it's so obvious. I saw it about five seconds after you caught up with me. I don't exactly know how Sam's still sane with all the sexual tension around."

Cas seemed to be considering this, so she made a suggestion:

"You know that start you made when you sat in his lap, the day you came back from Fort Collins? Carry on like that when he gets back this time."

.oOo.

Claire met them at the garage when they returned. Dean had a massive grin on his face; getting back on his feet and doing some good was clearly good for him.

"Hey, you look like you've had a good time. You want me to sort your laundry or something?"

She grabbed his duffel before Dean even had a chance to speak, to say she didn't need to do anything for him.

"Sam, come help me? I've got something I need to talk to you about."

Cas passed them as she was dragging Sam out. He had a determined expression, but gave her a small smile.

At the door, she paused, and both she and Sam turned to see the angel grab Dean, push him back so that he was pinned against the car and kiss him. For a moment, she worried, until Dean made a little sound she knew he would deny was a whimper and clung ferociously to Cas. Beside her, Sam subtly punched the air in victory. Their plan had worked.

Yeah, things were going to be okay now.


End file.
